Secrets
by Melody Starr31
Summary: There are things that everyone hides.Everybody has a secret.Some people hide them better than other.Some can't hide them. Others breakdown and spill out their secrets. So what was Sherlock hiding from Molly? And why hadn't Sherlock ever seen her secrets before?Bad with summaries! OC included!
1. The Fall of the Great Sherlock Holmes

**Author Note: This is my first time for writing a Sherlock FF. I hope to keep the characters as close to there personality as they are in the show but there will be a little change in some of them do to stuff that happens in the story. I owe a lot to my Friend Justice. She has taken a lot of time to correct with red pen and find my errors. I will miss her dearly when she moves. So have fun and read. I like positive and building criticism for reviews. Also I need help on plot line ideas. I know what I want to do but ideas of what you want would be nice. ~love Mels.**

**Disclaimer: Lets just say I don't own Sherlock and if i ever did... well it would be hell.**

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He watched John -who was frustrated and rather pissed at the fact that Sherlock could be so selfish at a time like this- leave the morgue. Mrs. Hudson had supposedly been "shot", and Sherlock didn't seem to care at all.

He really did care, it was just that he knew Mrs. Hudson was fine; just another trick from Moriarty to John to distract him.

After John left, Sherlock's phone went off. Pulling the slim black phone out of his pocket, he unlocked the text.

**Im Waiting… JM**

Putting the phone back in his pocket, Sherlock sat up in his seat.

"Molly?" He Whispered.

There was a small rustling noise from the supplies closet, and out stepped Molly Hooper; the Pathologist. She had been hiding in there all day waiting for John to leave.

"Oh my god, will Mrs. Hudson be ok?" Fear flashed across her face

Sherlock stood from his seat. "It was just a trick to distract John. She's fine." He took a deep breath. "We don't have much time Molly. Everything should be in place…" He trailed off; running his fingers through is hair worriedly.

"Sherlock…" Molly was hesitant. Her green eyes scanning his face.

He was afraid.

She had never seen him afraid before. He just never seemed like one to have anything to fear; until Moriarty.

He could play with anyone's mind-trick them; peruse them using there biggest fears.

Molly crossed the room towards Sherlock; puling a small round object out of her lab coat pocket. A bouncy ball. The one Sherlock had been using earlier. She grabbed his hand, put the ball in it, and wrapped hid fingers around it. Tears started to fill her eyes, and make them turn a lighter shade of brown and swirl with color.

"Good luck…" She started to walk past Sherlock to the door, when he grabbed her by the wrist and turned her around.

Tears filled his own eyes. _Her eyes look so beautiful when she cries, _he thought. And this innocent women was rising herself for him, even after he always treated her so horribly. 'You always say such horrible things. Always… always…' The words she had spoken during christmas swirled around in his head. He could at least b entice to her once before he ran of to his death.

"Molly." He watched her eyes swirl with more emotion. "Thank you so much. I-I am so sorry for the way I've treated you. I never meant to hurt you. Yet, here you are; risking yourself for me." He bent down and kissed her on the cheek; then pulled her into a hug. "Thank you Molly Hooper."

With that, Sherlock hurried out of the room; black coat swishing behind him.

Had Sherlock Holmes really just been nice to her? Thanked her, not once but twice? Said sorry to her? Hugged her? _And_ kissed her on the cheek? Taking a deep breath, Molly set up the morgue for the after match of what was just about to happen. Praying everything went according to plan.

**~*SH*~**

He had figured it all out- or most of it anyways.

Here he stood, on the edge of St. Bartholomew's roof top; ready to jump.

His heart pounded in his chest from fear, and his head was swimming from the drug he had taken earlier to help him fake his death. The drug would slow down his breathing and make look like it stopped altogether; it would also keep him out cold for long enough to trick the paramedics. Then he would be put into Molly's hands.

He thought he had figured it. The dead mad on the roof behind him, supposedly was Moriarty, was truly not Moriarty; he was just an actor. Meaning Moriarty is still out there.

He could tell this by the way the manhood recently just acted. The tight had shake saying "i'm sorry", and "Help me". The fear and sadness in the man's eyes, knowing this was his end. He either had to shoot himself, or he would be shot by another one of Moriarty's employees. Not even the best actor in the world could portray so much fear and sadness, just by will.

The fairytales- The Grimm's fairytales. He still could not determine what those had to do with anything. Maybe they were just there to trick Sherlock. Unfinished work- no -Moriarty wouldn't leave unfinished business. There had to be a connection… but what/

His vision went blurry. The drug was almost to full effect. He was going to black out. And there was John. Getting out out of the cab.

Using the phone one last time to call John, he left a note.

A suicide note.

He threw the phone aside; letting the screen shatter and crack …

…And he jumped.

**~*SH*~**

Molly watched out the window, her heart pounding. She could feel it in her chest, wrist, and neck. The fast and unsteady _bum bum bum, bum bum bum._ She had heard a gun be fired off, but she now watched as John; staring up at the roof. If Sherlock had been shot, wouldn't he have ran up there? That means he's fine right? Everything is going to plan?

She heard John yell Sherlock's name, and ran towards the building.

In the next second, a flash of dark wool coat, and flailing man passed the window.

Grabbing the bottle of clear liquid of her desk, Molly booked it down to the lobby; whispering the same words over and over again.

_Please don't be dead Sherlock Holmes. Please tell me your bloody plan has and will continue to work._

**~*SH*~**

Once he hit the ground, he rolled to his side and stuck the bouncy ball he under his arm that was stuck under him. It would cut off any circulation and pulse to his wrist.

Just before he blacked out completely, he saw a blurry John run towards him, and another man on a bike.

_Just on Que. _He thought.

Like Moriaty, Sherlock had people who were willing to help distract, trick, fake, and delay. And so does Molly. But she doesn't know that yet.

Then he blacked out.


	2. Meeting Elizabeth Carroll part one

**Authors note: So I only got one review on the first chapter. Thank you to that one person i love you dearly! I hope more people will start favoring, fallowing, and reviewing. I also need some plot ideas and stuff you guys wanna see.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Nor do I think I want to. Cause if I did then it wouldn't be what its like right now; amazing and clever.**

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Molly had just made it down in time to the lobby when they wheeled Sherlock in on the cot. Three paramedics and two cops surrounded the cot; asking for a doctor as soon as possible. They all knew Sherlock was dead and had no chance of saving him, but an autopsy was still in order to see if he was intoxicated, or possibly had a tracker or bomb hidden on him.

Molly continued to run towards the cot; adrenaline pumping through her veins. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and her muscles ached from all the crying she had done that day. Her mind though, seemed to only focus on saving Sherlock. Her eyes were set on the cot, blocking out any visual distraction and making everything around it blurry. Her eyes had also blocked out any surrounding noise; turning them into muffled noises and whispers.

_So this is why Sherlock loves this so much,_ She thought.

When she was close enough to the small group surrounding the cot, she raised her hammed and yelled "I'm a doctor"; still running.

~*SH*~

Moving as fast as she could, Molly pushed the cot towards the lift. She pushed the arrow pointing up, and tapped her foot impatiently. When the doors Molly's friend Elizabeth stood in the elevator shaft doorway.

Pulling her long black hair back into a low ponytail, Elizabeth spoke. "Ohhh. New Body. Can I help?!" A hopeful smile spread across her face.

"Not today Liz. Sorry." Not making eye contact, Molly pushed past Elizabeth to the elevator.

Elizabeth frowned; stepping in the lift doorway so they couldn't close. "You always let me help. Come on, Molly, please." She clasped her hands together and put them next to her face. Swaying like a little girl.

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. _This is not part of the plan… but if i don't say yes then she won't leave. Plus or some reason I feel like she could be a great help…_ "Oh fine. But you will fallow my instructions and will not repeat anything that happens to anyone, do you understand?"

"yes." Elizabeth raised her left hand and placed the right over her heart. "I, Elizabeth Carroll, will listen and fallow instructions of the great and and wonderful Molly Hooper." She smiled and stepped into the elevator; pressing the floor level for the morgue.

Once in the morgue, Elizabeth started pulling out stuff for the autopsy; a smile still plastered on her face.

"We don't need any of that." Molly said in a cold tone.

Elizabeth frowned, and was confused. "But they will need an autopsy done on him. Are we not doing one?" She turned around to look at Molly.

Molly had silent tears streaming down her face. She looked down at the man she had recently just uncovered. The left side of his face, and hair, were caked in old crusty, and new wet blood.

Carrying the tray of items, Elizabeth walked over to molly. "Molly? Are you ok?" Is something-" She stopped when she saw who the man was.

It was Sherlock Holmes. _The_ Sherlock Holmes. The one Molly was in love with. Anytime Elizabeth heard his name, she couldn't help but feel she knew him from somewhere else. _Oh. Now I see why she doesn't want to do an autopsy… but what happened… and why did she take him and not leave him for another doctor? _"Molly, what happened?"

Molly wiped the tears from her face. "I'll explain later. We can't talk about it here. Help me get his jacket and shirt off."

With some struggle (due to Sherlocks dead weight and Molly's shaky hands), the two women got the coat and shirt off with out causing more damage. Molly looked down at the half dressed Sherlock; getting rather distracted at how even with a lot of blood and damage, he could be so beautiful. Even before they cleaned him up a little too. Shaking her head, she pulled the glass bottle out of her pocket and clutched it to her chest and closing her eyes; praying the antidote Sherlock had thought of would work.

"Elizabeth, what ever happens, do not scream, yell, or freak out." She opened her eyes to look at Sherlock and smooth his hair away from his face.

Elizabeth gave Molly a skeptical look.

Uncapping the bottle, Molly tilted Sherlock's head back and opened his mouth; pouring the whisky down his throat. Then she waited. She heard a small gasp for air. Then a cough. Then more coughs. It was working . The burning sensation of the whiskey in his throat and the mix of the whiskey with the second drug hidden under his tongue was working!

Sherlock bolted up on the cot; eyes wide and hands scratching his throat. The burning sensation was to much for his to say or make any noise. Then he fell back onto the cot and squeezed his eyes shut; trying to block the pain in his entire body.

Elizabeth stared wide eyed. "Oh my fucking god Molly. What the bloody hell just happened?! He's dead!" Her voice carried through the room in just above a whispering yell. "What the hell is going on?! I've gone insane. That's all. Maybe this is a dream. Or i was overdosed again…" She went off; talking to herself.

Sherlock reached out and grabbed Molly's lab coat. "We need to leave." He whispered.

"But you're in no shape to travel." Sherlock could hear the sadness and worry in her voice,

"I don't care. We have to leave. He tried sitting up, but failed. "We need a wheelchair. And I need you to help me get changed. Then we need to get to your car."

"Damn." Molly started to panic. She forgot to move her car to the back parking lot. "I didn't move it. I'll get liz to do it."

"Who?" Sherlock looked confused. He's heard her mention this Liz before, but forgot who she was. His head was in to much pain to think.

"My friend. I think she can help us. I can't take care of you all by myself. Mycroft knows your not dead, but he's not gonna help.." She looked at Elizabeth who was still talking to herself. "Liz" No response. "Liz." Nothing. "Lizzy…lizzy… Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth snapped out of her trance. "Right. We are taking the supposedly dead man away from the hospital and i need to move the car out back. Ok. Maybe im not insane…" Elizabeth started talking to herself again.

"How did she do that? You didn't even have to tell her what we are doing, and we were mug to quiet for her to hear us while she was on in wonderland." Sherlock looked up at Molly, rather stunned.

"I don't knowhow she does it. You should see the other things she does. She insane. I think she was a spy or something and can do anything. Thats pushing it just a little though." Molly laughed.

"Maybe she was."

"Well, you and deduct that later." Molly smiled.

Molly thought changing Sherlock was already hard enough because he kept complaining and her hands kept shaking; but getting him downstairs and in her car was going to be harder.

She had dressed him in a old bathrobe, sunglasses, and thrown a blanket around him. Then she slowly helped him into the wheelchair. Sherlock could swing his legs over the cot, but needed help moving his upper half of his body.

"Don't forget the medic bag," Sherlock said.

Molly sighed. "I know."

"Or turn the lights off."

Molly clenched her teeth. "I know."

Sherlock hesitated. "Or lock the door."

Molly tightened her grip on the wheelchair handles as she pushed it towards the door. "I. Know."

"Oh, and-"

"Sherlock. I think I've got it."

" I was just going to say thank you…" There was a slight tone of hurt in his voice.

Molly was taken aback. She thought he was just going to bark orders at her as usual. "Oh. Well, you're welcome. I would do anything to help."

Sherlock sighed. "But you could get hurt," he whispered to himself.

~*SH*~

Molly, Sherlock, and Elizabeth successfully made it out of St. Bart's and on the road. Elizabeth drove Molly's car so she could sit in the back with Sherlock to keep an eye on him.

"Sooo…" Elizabeth drawled the "O" sound out. "What the hell is going on/ Did you resurrect him or something? Did you use voodoo? I mean, god Molly! There's a man- a man who everyone thinks is a criminal- who is supposedly dead- who, very well isn't dead- sitting in the back seat of your car! I deserve an explanation! Before I go mad!" Elizabeth looked through the rearview mirror at the two people sitting behind her.

Molly opened her mouth to speak, but shut it quickly. _Is it ok to tell her? Or will it be like in those spy movies where we will have to kill her afterwords?_ Realizing tears of frustration and tiredness were sliding down her cheeks, Molly went to wipe them; only to be stopped by Sherlock, whom grabbed her hand in his, and used his other hand to wipe her tears away.

"I'll tell her. We could use her help," he said just loud enough for only her to hear; smiling.

He then explained everything to to Elizabeth; from the beginning with all the people strapped to the bombs, all the way up to right after he blacked out.

By the time Sherlock was done, they had arrived at Molly's flat, and sat in the driveway.

"So the only people who know you're alive are Molly and I?" Elizabeth turned in her seat to look at Sherlock.

"Yes." He gave her his usual expression tone and face.

Elizabeth coward behind her seat. "Are you, you know, going to kill us now?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Molly giggled. _These two will be the death of me. _Molly thought.

Elizabeth straitened up. "What?" Usually that's what happens. A mysterious person comes along, turns the town upside down, disappears and asks like one or two people for help, tells them there dark secrets, then man slaughters them!" She jumped out the car door; running to the front of the car, and ducking in front of it.

Sherlock looked at Molly. "Is she ok?" He gave her a concerned look.

Molly sighed. "Lets just wait till your heads better and you tell me."


	3. Meeting Elizabeth Carroll Part Two

**AN: Ok so this chapter is a little longer than the others and Sherlock seems a bit OC I know. You have to think though. He was given drugs to help him fake his death, and is probably somewhat emotional so of course he's gonna be a bit OC . Sorry this authors note is really quick, I just wanted to get this posted and I'm currently at a friends house watching Doctor Who**

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"Sherlock, can you please hold still. I'm trying to stitch this last cut on your head. It's already hard enough with your stupid hair." Molly stood on the stool in her kitchen stitching his head as he sat in a chair next to her; being bored.

"Well I'm absolutely bored. I'm also very sore and rather tired. And my hair is not stupid! You love it!" Sherlock grumbled, then winced at the pain in his side. "How much longer until you can look for other injuries? Usually you wouldn't be this slow." He had to admit he loved the feel of her fingers in how hair, but he can't – no, won't- let it show. _You need to be careful about what you show Sherlock... _He reminded himself.

Molly finished the last stitch and rubbed her eyes. "Well Sherlock, I'm tired just like you, and you had so many cuts that needed stitches. We can move onto your torso now. I think you should only have a few small injuries, nothing that won't heal..." She trailed off and yawned.

Sherlock looked at her. "Molly, you're tired. You should go get some rest." His tone had changed to something almost... sweet... and he gave her that smiled. That only smile that could ever melt her heart, and the smile that was only ever meant for her. _Not the Molly smile Sherlock! What the hell are you doing!_

Molly was taken aback by everything he just did. He didn't snap at her, he told her to do something for herself and not him, he smiled, and that tone! She had never heard him use a tone so sweet and sincere. Unless he was trying to use her for the lab or something. But this tone was genuine. She sighed and closed her eyes. "Not until I'm done looking at you. I don't want to risk you injuring anything further because I didn't look at it. Plus Elizabeth kind of invaded my sleeping area."

"The sofa? Just wake her up and kick her out. We don't need her anymore. And who said anything about the sofa. You have a bed, yes?"

Molly opened her eyes to see Sherlock staring expressionless at her. "Yes I have a bed, but you need it more than I do." She crossed her arms across her chest and looked down at her feet.

Sherlock sighed. _Why does she have to be so damn nice and stubborn! "_ I'll sleep on the sofa."

"No Sherlock. I will sleep on the sofa."

Sherlock gave a genuine smile, but it was a mischievous one. "Fine, we will both sleep on the sofa... or we could both sleep in your bed." _Now you've done it. She's going to start getting skeptical on why your being so nice. The stupid drugs are keeping your guard down. You just need to go to bed and sleep them off._

Molly's cheeks burned. _Had he really just said that,_ she wondered. "Uh... Um... Er... we're just waisting time. Let's just check for other injuries..."

Sherlock's smile grew bigger. "Will you help me with my shirt." He hesitated. "Please."

Molly sighed and helped him out of his shirt; her cheeks reddening more. She knew she was blushing and he could see it. She also knew he was enjoying it. She also knew that he knew that _she _was enjoying this.

Shaking her head, Molly started to inspect Sherlock; processing everything as she did. _Light bruising on the right shoulder and back; asphalt burn on the lower back..._ She then noticed swelling on his right side where his ribcage was, and his clavicle.

"Sherlock, can you lift your right arm for me please." She said, pulling her hands away from his body.

Sherlock sighed and frowned, going unnoticed, when Molly's soft delicate hands left his skin. He started to raise his arm slowly; only to stop and wince. "It hurts in the front part of my shoulder, and the bottom of my ribcage."

Molly groaned and rubbed her face with the sleeve of her sweater. "I think you broke your clavicle and at least one of your rib bones might have a fracture. I'll get a sling when I go into work tomorrow. They won't give me a few days off because your not family. I'm praying that I'm correct in your injuries cause we can't go to a hospital. You should get some rest. Your pajamas are in the bag in my room and the bed is made. Let me just grab my stuff-"

Sherlock grabbed Molly's wrist with his left hand and pulled her towards him. Giving a loud yelp, Molly almost landed right on top of him, but caught her self and landed painfully on her knees; right between his legs.

Sherlock took his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I will not take your bed from you. I will either sleep on the sofa, or we share the bed."

Molly looked up at Sherlock and opened her mouth to protest, but shut it quickly. Past Sherlock stood Elizabeth; mouth gaping and eyes wide open. Molly's eyes widened and she pushed herself off her knees and stood up; backing away from Sherlock. As if she wasn't already red enough from blushing, she turned an even darker shade of red.

"Elizabeth… It's n-not what it looks like… I was just checking him out… that's not what I meant! I was looking for injuries is what I meant… and we were discussing who would sleep where, and my bed was brought up… oh god this all just sounds so wrong…" Molly hid her face behind her hands.

"It's exactly what it looks like Molly!" Elizabeth walked over to Molly and put her hands on her shoulders. "He was going to kill you! Snap your neck! You were in the perfect position for him to be able to do that! I would know! Or he was going to kill you in your sleep Molly. Don't you understand. He was using you like all those other times!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Like I don't care about her at all and want to kill her._ _And why would she know how to break someones neck?_

"Come on Molly. We have to leave before he gets both of us." Elizabeth pulled on Molly's hand, but Molly pulled her hand away before she actually started to drag her.

"Elizabeth, stop. I trust Sherlock . He would never hurt anyone physically just emotionally, and he does it to protect the ones he loves. You know they say 'You hurt the ones you love the most'? Well it could ever be more with Sherlock. He has never done anything wrong to anyone. Yes he's hurt me multiple times by the things he says, but I move on. I'm not someone he loves. I don't count."

Sherlock looked up at Molly and frowned. _No, no, no Molly. Don't say that! You do count! I just… it's…_

Molly and Elizabeth still starred each other down.

"If he hasn't hurt anyone, then he doesn't love anyone. The only person I've truly ever seen him be so cruel to is you. He must love a lot then Molly!" Elizabeth spat out. "He's a fraud. Cheater. Fake." Elizabeth pointed towards Sherlock with an accusing finger." Elizabeth knew her words were harsh, but she needed to get the point across.

Tears started to fill Molly's eyes. She had never seen Elizabeth like this before. She was usually so loving and never raised her voice. What had happened to the friend she had known for years?

"Elizabeth, hes not a-"

"Elizabeth Carroll." Sherlock cut Molly off. "Middle name Joanne, age 35, born on October third nineteen-seventy-five. All displayed on your work badge." He stood up and hovered over Elizabeth. "Taking notice of the calluses on your fingers you play guitar regularly. Your left handed. By the way you were talking earlier about me 'Killing Molly' or like all of this is a spy movie, you spend many hours watching movies and television. Therefore, you spend most of your time alone. You do not read very often because of the dyslexia you proved earlier by reading multiple signs wrong earlier. All your family is dead besides one sibling, but you don't know where they are. I heard that information from Molly. Your lactose intolerance; saw the bottle of pills in you bag. Along with the ones for your ADD and you are also on the outside spectrum of being quirky. You have multiple scars along your wrists, arms, and neck and refuse to cut your hair cause it hides most of them. Your would never be one to cause self conflicting harm, so perhaps your parents did this to you. You've also been drugged. Thats another point saying you are practically mental! your parents didn't want a child that was not _normal_. So they abused and drugged you, thinking that would fix everything. The only person who cared for you was your sister. You two ran away and never returned home. Since both of you were so young, you learned to defend yourselves."

Sherlock loomed over Elizabeth; backing her up into the counter. Tears started to fill her eyes but her face was stern and entry.

"You, Elizabeth Carroll, are afraid of me." Sherlock spoke through clenched teeth. "I bring back memories of fear and pain from your childhood I _could _cause you. And it would be just like when your parents hurt you. I am not fake Miss Carroll! I would never hurt anyone unless it was to protect them!" Sherlock winced and doubled over in pain. The yelling hurting his side and head. He should not have worn his brain like that with the drugs still in his system.

"Sherlock…?" Molly walked over to Sherlock and tried to help him. "Are you ok?"

Sherlock pushed her hands away. "Don't touch me." He then buried his face in his hands.

Elizabeth glared down at Sherlock with her nose slightly stuck up. "You, Mister Holmes, are wrong on so many things. Close, but wrong. I will believe that you are not a fraud. For now. But one slip up, and I will cal the police." Elizabeth looked at Molly. "I'll be by in the morning to pick you up Molly. I should go." She turned back to Sherlock. "I still don't trust you Mister Holmes."

With that, Elizabeth grabbed her bag and Molly's car keys; slamming the front door on her way out.

Sherlock and Molly stood in silence for a few minutes.

"Sherlock?" Molly spoke up. "Why have you been so nice to me lately?"

Sherlock had his head tilted down, so he glared at her through his eyelashes. _I knew she would notice! Damn it! This is what I was trying to avoid!_ " Because John would want me to be." It was a lie.

Molly shook her head that she understood.

"I think it's bed time. Good night Molly." Sherlock started to walk away.

Molly leaned off the counter and grabbed the icy hot out of the first aid kit. "At least let me put pain reliever cream on you."

"I'm fine. Good night." He left the kitchen and walked to Molly's bedroom.

Molly sighed and cleaned up the kitchen. Ignoring the fact she hadn't changed out of her work clothes, she let Toby her cat in through the back door and snuggled with him on the sofa; falling asleep almost instantly.

**~*SH*~**

Later that night, Sherlock crawled out of Molly's bed and walked to the living room.

Molly was sound asleep on the Sofa, using her coat as a blanket. Using the little muscle he had left, Sherlock picked up Molly and carried her to her room. Almost falling half way down the hallway because of the pain in his side. Her softly put her on the bed and pulled the blankets up on her. Moving some of her hair out of her face, Sherlock placed a soft kiss to her forehead.

_You do count Molly Hooper. I wish I could tell you though, but I can't risk you life anymore._

That night, Sherlock slept on the couch.


	4. Phone

**AN:Ok, so this chapter is shorter and its just got John and Lestrade, but it plays a very important part in the story later.**

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John sat in the kitchen of Greg Lestrade's house; a chilled beer in hand.

He had been sitting in his chair at 221b Baker street when he go a call from Lestrade around 2 in the morning; 13 hours after Sherlock committed suicide. Lestrade said John shouldn't be alone and had something to talk about with him. John hung up and called a cab.

Now he sat here. In Lestrade's kitchen. With a chilled beer. Drinking his sadness away as best as he could.

Lestarde took another sip of his beer and looked at John. "John, I'm going to ask you again. What did Sherlock say to you before he jumped?"

John took a chug of his beer and set it down on the table. He didn't want to talk about any of this, but he knew it must be done. The police needed the information, and if he didn't get help from someone he might end up taking his life too. "He told me that…" He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and started over. "He told me that everything in the news was real. That he had hired Richard Brooke to act as Moriarty, and every case he had solved was made up. He told me it was made up… but I still don't believe him… I know he wasn't a fake. I know!" John slammed his fist on the table and started to cry.

"We all truly thought he was just that smart in the beginning John. We all believed him. But then we noticed he was just to accurate and perfect. Then we thought we were being tricked. It's not possible for anyone to be that damn smart. Now none of know what to believe." Lestrade puffed out a breath of air.

Silence hung int the air as the two men sipped their beers. Both men had been close to Sherlock and knew well enough that he loved himself to much to just jump off St. Bart's and commit Suicide. There had to be a reason why he jumped; when the police and Crime Scene Investigators arrived went to look at the roof top they only found the body of Richard Brooke (there was still debating on who he was) with a gun in hand, and Sherlock's phone. The damn thing wouldn't work though. They had tried everything.

John wanted to know what happened on the roof or St. Bart's between Sherlock and Moriarty. He would do anything, but didn't know where to start so he gave up hope instantly. _Nobody had talked to Sherlock for most of the day besides me._ John thought through everything but his mind was failing him. He was tired and defeated from all the sadness from the day.

Sherlock shook up tp leave when Lestrade had stopped him and held out a plastic investigation bag. "It's the phone. The phone that started all of this. A Study in Pink. This is the phone Moriarty sent to Sherlock. I takes the CSI into letting me give it to you. I know it doesn't work, but it felt so wrong to think that we would just dispose of it."

John hesitantly reached out and took the phone. Without looking at it, he pocketed the phone, said goodbye, and left.

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**End Note:Please leave a review on what you think. Its really hard to tell what people like or don't like it they don't leave an opinion.**


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